


i’ve got this feeling (so i gotta cut loose)

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “Can I help you?” Keith asks, returning to his ice cream while continuing to stare at Lance.Long, nimble fingers idly tap the boombox in impatience. “You promised me we’d have a dance off or a dance or a whatever,” Lance quickly blurts out, leg bouncing under the table. His eyes flicker over Keith’s face, drinking him in.Keith simply smiles with a brief nod of his head. It had been a promise after all--in an abandoned hallway of their high school a few minutes before the bell would ring, with Lance’s lips inches from his own.(or a 1980s Klance au)





	i’ve got this feeling (so i gotta cut loose)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the TEOU Klance zine but unfortunately the project fell through so we’re finally able to post our works. The song they’re dancing to is Footloose.
> 
> Edit 7/29: translated into Russian by dreamkx2  
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/7890088

 

There’s this Mini Mart that is part gas station and part rest stop for weary travelers. Placed near the edge of town, it barely attracts any business anymore. Its electric sign sputters when the sky darkens in hopes of gaining late night shoppers. During the day, a cigarette butt or two will roll across the pavement, along with a few stray napkins, but no human presence aside from a greasy-haired employee will enter the store.

An abandoned patio resides out back. Dying weeds are scattered throughout the loose gravel, trying to hold their own in the world even though their victory will be short lived once the winter air funnels in. Picnic tables, worn from age and weather, have been placed somewhat in the shadows cast by the store but mostly, and unfortunately, in the sun. The bench is always uncomfortably warm, creaking under Keith’s weight as if it will buckle any second.

When Keith had been younger, he remembers a time where the doors to the store had been constantly swinging open and the sound of cars often softening to a halt in front of the pumps. He remembers how he was too rambunctious as a six year old and would have to hold his appa’s hand to prevent his wandering. They didn’t speak much English back then but the system of purchasing food was similar in every country; thus no words had to be exchanged, only money. Not that they had a lot of that either. This had been their daily routine, though now he doesn’t recall too many specifics from back then, every memory clumping together. Common factors remain apparent: the sun on his skin, the breeze in his hair, and someone holding him close. The day his appa died, Keith never came back until eight years later when he found himself wandering the familiar streets after leaving his last foster home.

The store, a husk of its former glory, is a monument that houses too many forgotten memories.

It’s cold for an early October day. Keith almost regrets wearing a tank top, but he only wraps his leather jacket tighter around his body and lives with his decision. A breeze rustles his black hair, whipping it against his cheeks and neck as he attempts to shake the longer locks out of his eyes. They fall right back into place. He also regrets buying ice cream today, a shiver racing through his body as the dessert melts in his mouth, freezing his lips.

A pair of feet walk across the gravelled patio, but Keith doesn’t take notice until a boombox slams down inches away from his face. He pauses, tongue poking out of his mouth, having been ready to clean the drips of ice cream threatening to run down the cone and coat his fingers and gloves in a sticky substance. Finally lifting his head, he cocks an eyebrow at the person in front of him who swings their legs over the bench opposite him.

Lance with his white t-shirt, jeans, and an always open light blue button up where the sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows, revealing more of his beautiful brown skin; Lance with that permanent cocky smirk on his face and windswept hair. For once, this man doesn’t speak, though he had been quite animated earlier at school.

“Can I help you?” Keith asks, returning to his ice cream while continuing to stare at Lance.

Long, nimble fingers idly tap the boombox in impatience. “You promised me we’d have a dance off or a dance or a whatever,” Lance quickly blurts out, leg bouncing under the table. His eyes flicker over Keith’s face, drinking him in.

Keith simply smiles with a brief nod of his head. It had been a promise after all--in an abandoned hallway of their high school a few minutes before the bell would ring, with Lance’s lips inches from his own. “Let me finish this first--”

“But you’re such a slow eater,” Lance whines, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. His impatience is cute, and Keith smirks as he defiantly bites off a bit of the cone.

Unexpectedly, Lance leans forward, his thumb reaching towards Keith’s lips, and wipes away a speck of ice cream on the corner of his mouth. Distracted by the way Lance’s eyes soften and the way those lips break out into a miniature grin, Keith completely misses Lance’s other hand sneakily moving toward the cone, victoriously grabbing it from his grasp.

He watches as Lance eats the rest of his ice cream, licking his fingers after the deed had been done, and Keith glares, frowning as he crosses his arms. Lance is unphased by his pseudo anger. “You’re paying for that.”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Lance smiles, wiggling his eyebrows.  

Rolling his eyes, Keith pretends not to be amused. “By buying me a milkshake after,” he names his price.

“Deal.”

Maybe Keith will even let him add a second straw to his glass.

Standing up from the bench, Keith briefly stretches out his legs, shaking out the hints of cramps creeping along his muscles, and flicks invisible dirt away from his washed-out jeans. He shrugs off his jacket, revealing the dark gray tank top underneath. Rolling his shoulders, he brushes his long bangs out of his eyes and smirks when he notices Lance staring. “You want something?”

Shaking his head, Lance bites his bottom lip, shucking off his button-up to keep himself busy, and Keith can’t help but stare as well--gracefully is how he’d describe the way Lance accomplishes tasks, even the simple ones. That white t-shirt molds perfectly to Lance’s body. “Nope, no, all good. But just as a suggestion,” he pauses before coyly swinging his gaze up to meet Keith’s, “wear more tank tops next summer… _please_.”

“We’ll see.” Keith’s eyes glimmer with mischief, stalking ever closer to his target who stands a proud two inches taller than him.

“Heh, maybe I’ll just cut the sleeves off all your shirts. Then you’ll have no choice.” Lance smirks at his own declaration, nodding in agreement with himself. “Better lock your clothes up, Keithy-boy; I’m coming for them.”

Keith laughs despite himself, shaking his head. His cheeks tingle as his mouth stretches into a wide smile. “I knew I shouldn’t have given you a spare key.”

Tipping Keith’s head up, Lance quirks his lips, a small dimple forming in his skin. “It’s mandatory to help out my boyfriend with his terrible fashion sense.”

Keith is quite proud of himself for the restraint he shows, managing not to kiss those lips that are in front of him. His bangs obscure part of his vision as he turns his head towards the picnic table. “What song?” he asks, wearily eyeing the boombox with the beat up edges and slightly dented corner--it had originally belonged to Marco, Lance’s older brother.

From his back pocket, Lance pulls out a cassette, twirling it between his fingers. Messy scribble has been etched in the tape plastered across the black plastic. Because of the pen a younger Lance had used, the ink is smudged. “I just grabbed a random mixtape so…. It’ll be a surprise.” He grins wickedly as he slides in the music before there’s a click and a beat shakes the table. A familiar opening of a drumbeat and a guitar rings in Keith’s ears as a smile flickers on his face.

“Well, isn’t this perfect?” Lance slides across the ground to be closer to Keith. “ _Been working so hard_ ,” he begins to sing along, lips parting.

“Something tells me you picked this mixtape on purpose.” Keith crosses his arms again, cocking an eyebrow. The lyrics sing in his head; his foot taps quietly along with them.

“You can’t prove anything,” Lance smiles before leaning closer--Keith can count the individual freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks--and whispers, “ _Now I gotta cut loose_ …”

Immediately, Lance grabs onto Keith’s hands, fingers intertwining, as he swings them to the beat. Then they begin to truly move. Their feet crunch on the gravel as they dance side by side, occasionally and purposefully bumping hips. Lance flicks his head back and forth to the rhythm, his short hair brushing across his forehead in soft curls. Mesmerized, Keith can barely hear the lyrics, caught up in the ethereal sight before him. They gravitate closer together, and Lance guides Keith’s hands to his hips, allowing them to dance as one entity. Lance’s fingers glide across Keith’s shoulders, hips rocking against Keith’s hands and feet kicking up loose gravel as they dig into the ground with each step.

“Who knew you could dance?” Lance says quietly, breaking Keith’s trance for a moment. That statement is such a lie--if Keith had been dancing, that’s a testament to Lance’s guidance and not raw talent--but heat creeps up his neck anyways, highlighting his pale skin in a warm glow. Ducking his head slightly, Keith tries to avoid Lance’s pleased smile and sparkling ocean-like eyes. “Aww, you’re blushing; that’s adorable,” Lance lightly teases.

His nose presses into Keith’s cheek, and he can feel the vibrations of those words as Lance’s lips touch his skin. Breathing softly, Keith’s heart beats frantically, the scent of a flowery detergent and coconut shampoo invading his senses. Everything about Lance overpowers him.   

On a quiet day in ‘82--three years ago when the sun had been too bright and glaring, and Keith found relief from the rays by tucking his head into his arms as he laid on the desk--a new student had tapped his shoulder, and when he looked up, a bright world didn’t seem that painful anymore. Keith had been immediately captured by that wide, toothy grin, which ultimately led to him helping out the new student with his broken English, knowing too well what it was like to have to suppress your birth language. Because of this, he gained a friend--something Keith never had before. Becoming boyfriends and partners had been an unexpected but entirely welcomed surprise.

Keith smiles at the memory, his grasp on Lance tightening, never wanting to let go. Eventually, though, they break in order to dance separately again as the song reaches its peak. By this point, Keith bobs along to the beat, having lost all sense of dance skills after gazing at Lance for too long. Lance, on the other hand, still retains that element of finesse as he moves in a way Keith could never hope to emulate.  

Lance holds out his hand, and without any prompting, Keith grabs on, twirling Lance to his chest and out again. And in again.

It’s easy to remember the moment when they just _were_ but not the events leading up to the climax. Keith doesn’t quite recall either of them as cliché, lovestruck idiots with bumbling confessions just waiting to be recited outside a bedroom window at midnight. Though, he clearly remembers having one in his mind the minute his eyes caught sight of Lance for the first time, the words tumbling around in his head and never ceasing. The sun’s rays had painted Lance a dark gold and stole Keith’s breath away, never bothering to return it.

However it had started, the conclusion to the secret stares and wonderment happened over a milkshake. McDonald’s was relatively quiet for that afternoon. Keith and Lance had skipped school for other excitements and thus beat the afternoon crowd to their favorite hangout spot. French fries sat in the middle of the table, and every once in a while, they would reach out at the same time, skin brushing across skin. One of them would retreat a second later with an awkward chuckle, but those brief moments meant everything.

Unknowingly, Keith had allowed a small smile to grace his lips, eyes crinkling in silent laughter as Lance narrated events from his childhood before they had emigrated from Cuba in 1980. Suddenly Lance had stopped, hesitancy in his eyes as his fingers absentmindedly rubbed the top of the straw, twirling it around his empty cup.

“I-I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend,” he stated, eyes firmly set on Keith’s face.

“Yeah,” _and?_ Keith mentally continued, not quite sure where this was going but hopeful--cautiously hopeful--nonetheless to find out.

Lance took a deep breath. “Would you ever _want_ to be with a girl?”

“I’ve never been interested in the opposite sex,” Keith divulged bluntly. The honesty of his words lifted him for a second until he caught the reaction to his answer. Lance’s spine straightened, eyes widening and lips parting in surprise. “Is that going to be a problem?” Keith continued after a pause. His harsh tone berated even his own ears, and his nails began to dig into the top of the table, too concerned about the response he might receive from his best friend. Keith’s worries, as usual, were unfounded.   

Lance quickly shook his head, an elated grin stretching across his face, his cheeks dimpling. Those blue eyes sparkled as tension drained from Keith’s body, his fingers now lazily drumming on top of the crescent marks that were now permanently scored into the table.

When Lance didn’t move to speak again, Keith hesitantly asked, “What?”

“I’m just really happy right now.”

That smile was contagious as Keith couldn’t help but mirror the person across from him. “Yeah, and why’s that?” he coaxed further.

“Mm, just that I have a fighting chance to win your affections.” The sun caught the wisps of Lance’s hair that frizzed wildly from the humidity.

Startled by how Lance could just openly admit these things, Keith’s pale skin colored a subtle shade of crimson. He momentarily lost his train of thought. On his tongue sat a few Korean phrases of adoration, all of which remained unspoken--for a moment, any words in English had felt lacking for such a declaration. Finally, with hands flat on the table, he found his voice. “Lance, you already have--have _always_ had my heart.”

Lance’s hand encroached closer; their fingertips touched before he took the leap and grabbed Keith’s hand in his own. That widening grin meant everything in that moment. No other words needed to be passed between them as they sat in a comfortable silence that was occasionally peppered with the sounds of two wild, racing hearts.

Thus they became something--new, exciting, dangerous. Keith felt truly alive after that moment.

Lance’s arms wrap around Keith’s neck as their movements wind down in time with the rhythm of the music. “You’re happy?” Lance quietly asks, though he must already know the answer.

Keith beams, a replacement for unnecessary words; it’s an action that only one person is allowed to witness. Their lips brush tauntingly close together as the lyrics fade to vibrations of instruments through the speakers, and then there is silence. It’s a deafening type of silence that leaves Keith’s ears ringing form the sudden quietness of everything; even the wind has hushed, the air stagnant but refreshing. Keith’s chest heaves from the exertion as he and Lance continue to sway back and forth, at a slower pace this time. A small click is the loudest thing in the universe.

“Another song’s playing,” Keith whispers gently, his eyes fluttering closed as Lance’s fingers tangle with his hair, nails drifting across his scalp.

“I know.” Lance leans forward, capturing Keith’s lips in a soft kiss.

If anyone comments on the two boys dancing in the parking lot of a run down convenience store, well there are worse things in life than being caught kissing the boy you love.

**Author's Note:**

> Even if the zine didn't work out, I had a lot of fun writing this piece. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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